


Bleeding Out

by wildes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Manipulation, sort of angry yet sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1509188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildes/pseuds/wildes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, they are the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written Hannibal fic for a while, I hope it's alright and makes sense outside my head as well as inside of it. :---)  
> While writing this I was listening to Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons.

For a while now, Will Graham has felt completely torn apart.

He sits behind a desk in his home, trying to focus on something that has nothing to do with murder or cannibalism or Jack Crawford. Winston sleeps by his feet, a warm presence near Will’s calves, and it calms Will down somewhat but not enough for him to be able to concentrate on anything. He hasn’t been able to set his mind on anything normal for weeks, now.

When he closes his eyes, it’s Hannibal Lecter’s face that he sees, smiling at him triumphantly. Will leans his head against the desk, drawing in deep, shuddering breaths. His hand has curled into a tight fist in Winston’s fur. It’s not alright, he is not alright, but he can’t let on. The point of trying to convince others of Hannibal’s guiltiness has passed him by miles and miles, and by every passing day the chance of ever catching him floats further away from him. He forces himself to relax, crossing his arms over his chest in a feeble attempt to feel safe.

Alana visits him from time to time, but her eyes are cold and she never stays long. Will blames her less every day, but every day he grows more indifferent about her. What could once have happened between her and Will feels like a distant dream, out of reach and immaterial. He has lost the ability to think about things like love or romance. There have been bigger fish for him to fry.

He stands up from his desk when there’s a knock on the door. Will doesn’t move to open the door right away, instead standing in the hallway for a minute or two. He knows who it is, and he hasn’t yet figured out a way to deal with him without murdering him.

Eventually he opens the door but doesn’t greet his guest, only walks back inside his house and leaves the front door open, resigned.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal says, stepping inside and closing the door carefully behind himself. He’s holding some sort of a packet in his hands and Will scoffs. If it’s food, he’s going to laugh. The idea of laughter feels weird to him. He hasn’t laughed for a very long time, now.

“It is food, isn’t it,” Will says, and it’s not a question.

“Yes,” Hannibal says. He walks closer to Will and hands him the plastic containers. “It’s vegetarian, however. I figured it would ease any unnecessary strains between us.”

Will blinks. “You figured right,” he says.

 

Later that evening Hannibal tells him that Will is no different from whoever he thinks Hannibal is. He hadn’t thought of it, not all the way through, anyway; he hadn’t dared to. But when he hears it from Hannibal’s mouth, he knows every word of it is true. He has been fantasizing about killing people, after all. The truth scares him, and he tries to steady his hand upon seeing it shake slightly.

Will smiles, but it’s utterly joyless, his soul wrenched into two parts. He lifts his glass of whiskey to his lips, fixing his gaze to Hannibal. “What do you suggest we do about that, Doctor?”

“Whatever needs doing,” Hannibal says, mysterious as ever, giving little away. He stands up then, Will's dogs jumping away from his feet. Will mirrors his movements without really meaning to. The dim light coming from the fireplace creates eerie shadows around them.

“Dear Will,” Hannibal says and curls his hand around the back of Will’s head, his thumb stroking Will’s scalp in circles. “It’s just the two of us,” he says, and Will knows he has managed to lure the fish into the net. It doesn’t comfort him much, though, because in the process he’s managed to tangle himself in the same mess. As much as he doesn’t like it, they are in the same boat now, and if one of them is going to go down, the other will surely follow shortly behind. Will can tell that in this moment they are both very aware of this. He blinks, watches as Hannibal regards him with soft eyes, softer than Will would allow him to have.

Hannibal leans in and Will can’t say he’s surprised. Their lips meet in a soft and short encounter. Will surprises himself by grabbing a hold of the front of Hannibal’s expensive shirt, his fingers treading along the line of his tie.

It’s Will who leans forward the second time, even though he doesn’t mean to. He kisses Hannibal, biting down the other man’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Hannibal gasps, and it turns Will on to hear his usually impeccable self-control shattering like that. He moans in the next kiss, grinds against Hannibal, a man who he would happily kill should he have the first chance to do so without ending his own life at the same time.

“So desperate,” Hannibal remarks between kisses, holds Will tight by the hips and hums lightly, deliciously. “You’ve surprised me again, Will.”

“Shut up,” Will says under his breath. He feels feverish and his eyelids are prickling dangerously. “Just keep your mouth shut.”

He kisses Hannibal again and it tastes like salt from the tears that are falling down his cheeks. This was never what he meant to happen. But then, he really is no better than Hannibal, he never really was. 

“You don’t need to pretend with me,” Hannibal says then, as if he’s reading Will’s mind. Maybe he is. Will certainly wouldn’t put it past him.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll kill you,” Will says and means it. He runs a hand over his face hastily, trying to stop crying and failing. “I will kill you,” he says shakily, and means it less this time.

“Hmm,” Hannibal mouths, pressing his thigh between Will’s legs. 

“Oh, fuck,” Will says, drawing in a sudden breath. “Fuck.”

“I am going to do unspeakable things to you,” Hannibal says, moving his hands up and down Will’s sides. His eyes, when Will meets them, are devilish and hungry, his self-constraint long gone. 

Will leans in to kiss him to shut him up. He lets out an involuntary sigh when Hannibal works his tongue in Will’s mouth while working his jeans open with his expert fingers.

Will wants to hurt him. Instead he grabs Hannibal’s tie and holds on to it tight, something to keep him grounded. His tears have finally ceased.

It doesn’t take long for Will to come. In fact it only takes a couple of minutes of Hannibal stroking him and whispering things in Will’s ear, not keeping quiet despite Will’s threats to kill him. 

When he comes, his jeans around his knees and his shirt still on and buttoned, he goes limp against Hannibal’s arms.

He thinks his brain can’t handle the amount of shame and anger and fear he should feel, because he doesn’t feel any of those things. He just feels numb and tired and completely resigned.

Hannibal all but carries him to bed. 

“We are the same, you and I,” he says softly.

Will believes him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds a difference between himself and Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really mean for this story to continue, but turns out it did. I hope you'll like it. :)

Will wakes up in the middle of the night not knowing what woke him. He can feel the warmth of Hannibal next to him but doesn’t turn to face him. Instead he stares up at the ceiling, drawing in deep breaths to keep calm.

He’s spent a lot of time in Hannibal’s house over the last week, only going home to feed the dogs and let them outside for a couple of hours every day. Hannibal doesn’t talk to him much, preferring to communicate through touches and dishes of sublimely prepared food, which is no longer vegetarian. Will no longer minds, and there is a horrifying part of him that enjoys it. A part of him that doesn’t feel like throwing up when he smiles over the table at Hannibal while chewing.

Will doesn’t believe he and Hannibal are the same anymore. The realisation forms in his head little by little, while Hannibal washes Will’s blood-stained hands. Hannibal looks at him tenderly, and with a look in his eyes that says ‘this is only the beginning’. Will knows it’s not the beginning but rather the final moments before the end. Unlike Hannibal, Will is under no delusions that they won’t be caught, and sometimes, staring at the ceiling at four in the morning, he aches for the day to come when all of this will finally be over.

The sex they have reflects the newly found difference between them. Hannibal whispers calming words into Will’s ear while he fucks him, deliberately slowly, enjoying seeing Will begging for him to move faster, to touch him, to do _anything_. Begging, of course, has no effect on Hannibal, who pushes into him excruciatingly slowly, time and time again, pinning Will’s arms above his head, leaving him unable to do anything but try and push back.

The rare times Hannibal lets Will have any control over the situation Will bites into Hannibal’s neck, hard, eager to have him feel some of the pain Will is constantly experiencing. He holds onto Hannibal hard, knowing full well that every time they fuck could be the last one before they go down. He doesn’t want to miss any sensation and for his part the sex is always full of desperation.

“Harder,” he breathes. Hannibal’s hand is on Will's cock but he isn’t stroking it, just holding it lightly. 

“You need to learn some self-restraint,” Hannibal whispers, the words falling out of his mouth as slowly as he moves inside of Will. “We are going to need it.”

“FUCK ME HARDER,” Will shouts, growls, and for a second he imagines he sees a flash of shock fleeting over Hannibal’s face. He can’t be sure, though. The moment is gone before he can fully grasp it.

Hannibal lets go of Will’s dick, then, and moves his hand to place it over Will’s mouth roughly. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes have turned dark and intimidating. He picks up his speed and pounds into Will deep and fast. Will closes his eyes shut tightly. It hurts, the way Hannibal is fucking him now, but it’s alright. Will is past the point of caring if it’s pain or pleasure as long as he feels _something_.

Hannibal doesn’t let him come. Once he’s finished with Will he ties Will’s arms behind his back and tells him to go to sleep. 

Will rubs his wrists, remembering the night. Though it has been three days since that happened, Will still feels sore, though he’s sure it might be purely psychological.

Will has no regrets. He decided long ago now that if catching Hannibal isn't an option, going down with him will be almost as good. Both approaches ultimately lead to the same conclusion, after all: Hannibal getting caught. And if Will gets caught as well, it’s not like he’s innocent. He has never been. Hannibal has made him understand that much at least.

He doesn’t know how long he lies there, immobile, not even blinking, his eyes unfocused. Hannibal’s breathing next to him is steady and deep. It would be so easy to kill him, now. He could roll on him, if he wanted to, he could wrap his hands around Hannibal’s throat and squeeze, watch him snap his eyes open in horror before closing them again. Permanently.

He doesn’t. It’s a sick thrill to know he has nothing to lose anymore, and although he knows it won’t last forever, he isn’t ready to let go of it just yet.


End file.
